Saturday, January 29, 2005

oh, pink and frozen earth

The Dog gets me up and out onto the brittle snowpack, my steps and his echoing in the thick and twinkling black of an almost-dawn. I'm limping on a twisted knee and my arm hurts from being pulled too hard too many times by his leash as we make our way back into house under the stars. The coffee is waiting and hot. I start a day again.

The Boy called yesterday bursting with proud news of call-backs from his first auditions. I call his sister but only get her voicemail. I struggle with the enveloping loneliness of deepest winter, becoming a hermit in my house but unable to use this gift of time and health effectively. Waking up with the excitement of all the things I will tackle and accomplish, running out of mental gas by mid-afternoon.

Yesterday, primary care for my mother. My father went to New York for a couple of days. I am claustrophobic there, and guilty because of it. I want to flee the moment I arrive and am impatient both when she sleeps too much and when she wants to talk. I am impatient with the groaning, impatient with the slowness with which she moves, impatient that she can't remember what pills she is supposed to take when. Like gas poured in a line, the anger burns straight ahead, all around me, follows me back home and consumes the night into wasteful, surrendering ash.


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